“Here comes another hemp-pulling knave. 'Fore God, the colony will have to give up the cultivation of tobacco, and engage in raising hemp, for we are like to have some demand for it. Hark ye, sir knave—do you know the nature of the message which you have aided in bearing from the traitor Bacon to myself?” “Not I, your honour—no more than my carbine knows whether it is loaded or not. It's little the General takes an old soldier like me into his counsels; but I only know it is my duty to obey, if I were sent to the devil with a message,” and the villain looked archly at the Governor. “Your language is something of the most insolent,” said Sir William. “But tell me instantly, did you have no conversation with Major Hansford on your way hither, and if so, what was it?” “Little else than abuse, your honour,” returned Berkenhead, “and a threat that I would be beat over the head if I didn't hold my tongue; and as I didn't care to converse at such a disadvantage, I was e'en content to keep my own counsel for the rest of the way.” “Do you, or do you not, consider Bacon and his followers to be engaged in rebellion against the government?” “Rebellion, your honour!” cried the renegade. “Why, was it not your honour's self that sent us after these salvages? An' I thought there was any other design afloat, I would soon show them who was the rebel. It is not the first time that I have done the State some service by betraying treason.” “Look ye,” said the Governor, eyeing the fellow keenly, “if I mistake not, you are an old acquaintance. Is your name Berkenhead?” “The same, at your honour's service.” “And didn't you betray the servile plot of 1662, and get your liberty and a reward for it?” “Yes, your honour, but I wouldn't have you think that it was for the reward I did it?” “Oh, never mind your motives. If you are Judas, you are welcome to your thirty pieces of silver,” said the Governor, with a sneer of contempt. “But to make the analogy complete, you should be hanged for your service.” “No, faith,” said the shrewd villain, quickly. “Judas hanged himself, and it would be long ere ever I sought the apostle's elder tree.[41] And besides, his was the price of innocent blood, and mine was not. Look at my hand, your honour, and you will see what kind of blood I shed.” Berkeley looked at the fellow's hand, and saw it stained with the crimson life-blood of the young Indian. With a thrill of horror, he cried, “What blood is that, you infernal villain?” “Only fresh from the veins of one of these painted red-skins,” returned Berkenhead. “And red enough he was when I left him; but, forsooth, he reckons that the paint cost him full dear. He left his mark on Major Hansford, though, before he left.” “Where did this happen?” said Berkeley, astonished.